by David Smith
Blain sat wearing just a pair of tennis shorts, his blond hair still damp.
“Okay, let’s see if we can find out just who you are, Mr. Nathan Duncan.” Blain said out loud to his computer monitor.
Typing the words: “Nathan Duncan Disneyland,” in the Google search bar, Blain was very surprised at what he saw pop up. Over two thousand hits came up, with the most relevant listed first.
Scrolling down, Blain found an unauthorized Disney blog spot, which listed various blogs that had combinations of the three words. One caught his attention that contained all three words along with one other word: Death.
The blog was titled, “The First Disney Death.”
Blain was instantly intrigued, wanting to know what association the owner of the wallet may have had with a death at Disneyland.
The first part of the article described the first reported “Death” at the Magic Kingdom:
The ride was the Matterhorn; the event: a party for 10,000 Long Beach Elks and their guests. It was May, 1964. 15 year-old Marv Miller of Long Beach was arguing with his date about wanting to go steady. Friends of the teen had to calm the boy down after the girl had left him in the Park. Even though he was depressed, the teen ended up engaging in some horseplay with his friends while waiting in line for the Matterhorn around 11:30 that evening. Once on the ride, for some inexplicable reason, Marv Miller stood up, unfastening his safety belt in the process. No one was able to report why Miller stood up. But as the ‘bobsled’ began to speed up in the downhill portion, his friends sitting in front of him heard some kind of noise, a “thump” as it was later described. When one of the friends turned around, Marv Miller was no longer in the car. The official report was that he was “catapulted from the speeding car.” Miller landed on the ground within the ride a few feet down from where he must have been ejected. He died of a skull fracture and internal injuries, never regaining consciousness.
Blain was fascinated as he had heard something about the death from others working at the Park. But it was what he read in the second paragraph that really captured his attention:
The second death in Disneyland is still clouded in mystery. Disneyland landscaper Nathan Duncan reportedly fell onto the Monorail High Voltage conduit while trimming trees that were growing in the path of the transportation vehicle circuit. Witnesses, however, had come forth claiming to see a man resembling Duncan’s description, clad in an all-white landscaping uniform of the Park, being chased through the Park moments before the man was said to have died. Rumor has it that Duncan could have been involved in a heist of an undisclosed amount of money a month earlier, but those reports were said to be false, that no money had been taken. Disney officials declined to elaborate beyond the official released report. Ironically, this second death occurred on the very same day that Walt Disney passed away.
Searching police records and articles about Nathan and about his family, Blain found out more about Nathan Duncan. He learned that ironically, Paul Duncan, Nathan’s father, had also been killed by electrocution. Compelled to learn more, Blain found a police report outlining the death of Paul Duncan, that he was killed when he mistakenly grabbed a hot, high-voltage line that he had accidently knocked down while cutting trees down in the vicinity. An interesting side note written in the forty-eight year old report was that the ambulance and fire trucks arrived moments after the report by Duncan’s son, Nathan, was called in about the grisly discovery of his father…even though the location was quite a distance to the nearest fire department or hospital. The conclusion of that error was probably due to someone noting the wrong time down in the operator’s log.
Blain re-read the articles, checked other sites and found nothing new or different on either Nathan’s death, the purported missing or stolen money, or the coincidental same-cause-of-death that his father had met with. After a few minutes, he walked to his bedroom, pulled the shorts from the day before off the top of his dresser, the place they had landed after he tossed them before falling into bed. He reached into the buttoned cargo pocket of his shorts and pulled out Nathan’s discovered wallet.
He found the small envelope and the torn note that was in it. Unfolding it, Blain re-read the note:
‘Lynie, I hope I am able to hand this note to you in person. If not, then one of two things has happened: I was unsuccessful or I have been caught…or worse. You should have the other half of these instructions that I sent you. Together, and with my notebook, you should be able to locate what I’ve left for us.
No matter what, you will always be my ‘Becky.’
Our favorite book is the key. But you have to use this key to find “my” key. Then the rest of these instructions (those you already have), will show you what to unlock.
I love you,
Nate
Blain got back on his computer and re-wrote the note typing it out using his word processor. Because the age and condition of the note, Blain wanted another, clear copy of the words printed. While typing the words, he highlighted, “What I’ve left for us,” and “you have to use my key to find our key.” Blain then printed the note and minimized the word processor page.
Blain reached into the wallet and pulled out the envelope with the key. He turned the open end down onto his palm and caught the small brass key as it fell. Leaning back in his chair, Blain fingered the key, turning the narrow end back and forth between his fingers while watching the number “18” that was stamped on one side appear and disappear.
Thinking about the key, he then pulled the first article he had read about Nathan’s death at Disneyland back up on the computer screen. He read it again, for the third time. When he was done reading, he looked at the key once more and then looked back at the screen. He then smiled as he came upon the two words that had significance:
Disneyland Landscaper.
CHAPTER 26
Locks and Lockers
Monday, June 28th, 2010
8:40am
“What?” Malaysia almost shouted in the living area of her suite she shared with her sister at the Marriott Hotel. “We are playing a mid week show…no, a MONDAY show TONIGHT? Without any rehearsals?” an apprehensive Malaysia was asking Genevieve when she was told of their change in plans for the evening. Laura sat at the small desk in the corner of the room; her chair was turned facing Malaysia who was standing next to the couch and Genevieve who sat at the far end of it.
“Relax, Mal. It’s a charity event that we have arranged with the Children’s Hospital of Orange County. It’s going to be a small, intimate show. We are not even using our lighting or stage effects,” Genevieve said, sitting now at the edge of the couch, trying to soothe Malaysia apprehension.
Malaysia relaxed a little, but looked at her sister, who was swiveling back and forth in the office-styled desk chair, for confirmation. “You okay with this?”
“Sure, sounded like fun, a good cause, and certainly we could use the publicity,” Laura said with a relaxed shrug.
Malaysia took a deep relaxing breath. It did sound good. She hated to admit it but she wasn’t worried at all about doing an unscheduled performance. What she was concerned about was that she first thought she wouldn’t be able meet with Blain today as she had hoped to do. Now, she figured it would be fine. “Okay, so what time tonight and where is it?”
“It’s at a place called the Coach House, down in San Juan Capistrano, near the beach. Sound check is at six-thirty; show time at seven-thirty. It is only our single act show…one hour tops,” Genevieve said standing up.
“Okay, I’m in,” Malaysia said.
“By the way, Mal, why don’t you tell Gen about your date yesterday and last night,” Laura said with a grin.
“Yes, please, tell me all about your American boy. Blain, right?” Gen said, as she stood in the center of the room.
Malaysia looked at Laura. “Oh, there is nothing to say,” Malaysia said, her face turning pink.
“Oh, come now, Mal. Laura tells me you kept her up until about two in the morning wit
h, ‘Blain this, and Blain that’…and something about ‘fireworks, and more fireworks’,” Gen said standing up from the couch, putting her hands on her hips.
“Laura exaggerates,” Malaysia said quietly.
“Well, don’t start something you can’t finish, Mal,” Genevieve said sternly. She then added, looking directly at Malaysia, “And Mal, this IS something that YOU can’t finish.”
“I know,” Malaysia said quietly as Genevieve opened the door and went out. “I know,” she repeated as she held the door after Genevieve walked out, whispering half heartedly she let the door close with a resounding snap.
Laura silently watched her sister; Malaysia remained standing at the door she had just closed behind Genevieve. Slowly leaning forward, Malaysia rested her forehead against the door, her eyes closed. Ever so slightly, Malaysia began bouncing her forehead against the door.
“I know, I know, I know,” Malaysia repeated again and again.
Laura frowned, feeling sorry for her younger sister.
10:10am
Blain had headphones on and was plugged into his small Fender Frontman amplifier in his bedroom. He was practicing “Raise Your Glass” by a band called “Pink.” It was a song that Blain’s band was adding to their set list for their next show.
In the middle of his guitar solo, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
Looking at the incoming number, the Caller ID showing a strange set of numbers he didn’t recognize, he set his guitar on its stand and pulled off his head phones.
“Hello…this is Blain,” he answered, suddenly realizing who it had to be.
“Blain, it’s um, Missy,” Malaysia said. “Did I wake you?”
“Hi Missy! Oh, no. I’ve been up since eight. How are you? Sleep good?”
Malaysia played with her still brunette-colored hair with her finger, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror in her room as she spoke. Wearing a thin, light blue tank top that she had slept in, she smiled, hearing Blain’s lively voice. She answered his question, “I’m good. But, to be honest, I couldn’t sleep at all. I kept thinking about fireworks.”
Blain laughed. “I had the same problem…although, I didn’t mind.”
Malaysia wanted to say, I’d like to see more fireworks, if you don’t mind, but instead she asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m working on a new song here at my apartment.”
“Really, which one?”
“Raise Your Glass, by Pink. Heard of her?”
Malaysia answered, “Yes. She is popular even in my country.”
“So, what are your plans today, Missy,” Blain asked, sitting down, picturing Missy in his mind.
“Well, I’m free for most of the day. My parents want me to attend some conference dinner that my dad is attending. It has something to do with his telecommunications company back home. Why, what do you have in mind? Any more ‘surprises’?”
Again, Blain laughed. “I wouldn’t call it a surprise…more like a treasure hunt.”
“What?! Does this have something to do with the wallet?”
“Yes. Wait until I tell you what I’ve found out.”
“Tell me now!”
“No. But, how about I pick you up for lunch and I should have more to tell you then. I need to go to work to find something out first.”
Malaysia was curious. “Blain, you’re killing me! Okay, okay. What time do you want to meet?”
“I should be able to be at your hotel around one o’clock. That work for you?”
“I’ll make it work.”
“What time do you have to leave for your dinner with your folks?”
“I think around five,” Malaysia figured, thinking that would give her enough time to rinse the color out of her hair.
“That works,” Blain said. Then he added, “Too bad you have your dinner tonight.”
“Why is that?” Malaysia asked.
“I’ve got a good friend, Jim Aitelli, who originally taught me how to play the guitar a few years back. Anyway, his wife Kerrie works for a charitable fund-raising company. They are putting together a charity show tonight with that singer from Switzerland, Malaysia Hosner. Kerrie called me last night, left a message on my answering machine. She thought I might like a couple tickets. I was kinda hoping you could go too.”
Malaysia almost choked. “Oh, Blain. That would have been terrific. I hear she puts on a good show. She was featured on one of our music channels in my home town just before I left to come here.” Malaysia thought she better shut up in fear of sounding too phony.
“I only know the one song our band plays of hers; the one we did the other night you and Laura came.”
“Heart Wide Open? That is a good song. I personally like her song ‘Paper Walls.’ I think you guys should do it. Your lead singer would have fun with it, I’ll bet.”
“I’ll have to take a listen to it. Maybe I’ll go out and buy her album. Thanks Missy,” Blain said.
Malaysia felt her heart racing. How long can I keep pretending? She asked herself. She then thought about Blain buying her album which had a picture of her on the cover. “Oh, you don’t have her album?”
“No, we did her song because J.T., our lead singer, said her music was excellent. She had made a CD of her song for all of us to learn our parts. We all liked the song.”
Malaysia had to fight from blushing. “Well, I like her stuff,” Malaysia said unsure of anything else to say.
“Well, let me get going here and I’ll meet you in the lobby at one. Okay?” Blain said.
“Sounds good, Blain. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
“Me too, Missy.”
11:15am
“How long have you been here?” Blain asked the man sitting across from him at a desk that looked like it came out of a front-line field unit from World War II. The guy too looked seasoned; he had to be at least in his late sixties, while not that old, Blain was expecting to meet with someone much younger.
The Disneyland landscaping office was an aged bungalow with plywood-finished interior walls and a compact air conditioning unit housed in a cut-out rectangle in the wall centered below a side window in Willie Riggio’s office.
“Been here since 1962. Forty-eight years, this coming August. Got hired on my twentieth birthday, so it’s easy to remember,” Willie Riggio said, his bald head flanked by short curls of white hair that matched the little hairs Blain could see growing out of his ears. A pair of glasses was perched on his nose. A couple of permanent indentations were higher up on the bridge of his nose where the pads of his glasses had left their mark most likely from decades of wear. “What was it you wanted to know?”
“I’m interested in learning about a guy who worked here in 1966,” Blain said, leaning a little forward.
“‘66? Well, that was a very long time ago.”
“I know. But I thought you might remember this guy. His name was Nathan Duncan.”
“Duncan, eh?”
“You remember him?” Blain asked surprised in the way Riggio referred to the name…as if it was a name that Riggio had thought recently, instead of more than forty years ago.
Riggio laughed. “Of course. Not too many of your workers get electrocuted, poor fellow; easy to remember that little event. Not to mention it was the same day that Walt passed. We all remember that day like it was yesterday.” Riggio sighed as if the memory took some bit of energy to recall. “Also, a lot of my workers were oriental or Hispanic much like they are still today, and Nathan was not dark skinned…but white, like Snow White. No tan on that man at all.” Riggio added, then stopped and was clearly thinking about something else. “But, from the way those special security guys were asking questions and searching his stuff back then, you would have thought the guy cleared out Fort Knox or something.”
“You think he could have stolen something from here? Like money?” Blain asked.
“The way he was seen running? I wouldn’t be surprised. He was kinda a nut case.”
“
In what way?” Blain asked.
“No friends. No chicks. No naked girlie pictures in his locker. Course, the guy wasn’t a ‘looker’ if you know what I mean. I remember, too, the guy didn’t hang out after work, didn’t even drive to work.”
Blain sat back in his chair. After a moment, Blain reached into his pocket and pulled out the key found in Duncan’s wallet.
“Does this key look like something from around here? Like a locker or padlock or something like that?” Blain asked. He reached forward, dropping the key into Riggio’s hand.
Willie Riggio looked at the key, turning it over between his fingers. “Hmm. Just a second,” Riggio said, setting the key on the center of his desk. He leaned back in his chair, looking like his back was stiff as a board, and spun the chair around so he was facing a large metal cabinet that was mounted against the wall behind his desk. Swinging open the front metal door of the large, rectangular cabinet, Riggio ran his fingers along dozens of hooks, each holding a number of different keys. Some were gold, some silver, some with rubber ends, some with round, paper labels held to some of the keys by thin wires. There had to be at least a hundred keys on more than thirty hooks.
“Ah, here we go,” Riggio said lifting a key off one of the bottom hooks. “Thought so,” he said, wheeling his chair back around towards the desk. “I haven’t looked at one of these in ten years probably…” he said, looking over the key in his hand as if reminiscing. “But when you use one every day for ten years, you remember,” Willie said shaking the key toward Blain.
Willie picked up the key Blain had given him from his desk. Holding the two up side by side, he said, “Yep. That’s one of our locker keys we used here in the landscaping office. See?” Riggio held the nearly identical-looking key next to the one with the number “18” printed on it. The other key was the same size and shape, but it was much shinier and had the number “2” imprinted on the flat part below the hole used for putting the key on a key ring or hook.